I've been niggly for a few days now, and I haven't really known why. I wrote today, working on the WiP ('The Desk'). Martin has had a difficult night. He has awoken, gone about his morning in his usual meticulous way, and wanders off to work. The streets are relatively quiet, traffic light, and it bugs him. It keeps on bugging him and he can't work out why. Events unfold at work and he, his partner and their impromptu companion are in the car, on their way to the crime scene they visited the day before. He sits in the back of the car, looking out of the window. It is a bright, if overcast day. The traffic is too light, the morning is too calm and it irks him. And then he remembers why it is so light. Half-term. And suddenly it is a half-term on a bright, overcast day, two years previous. And his world crashes in.
I've been niggling for a few days. I've not been with it, not felt myself, not been 'quite there'.
A man walks in his front door. He spies a package. He wonders what it is he has ordered, he can't remember ordering anything. He picks it up, and as he begins to open it he knows. He knows what it will contain, and why. And his world crashes in. In a few days, it will be time. In a few days it will be a cold winter's morning, three years previous, and he will get a phone call.
Each year I think I will deal with this better. And I don't. It doesn't matter what you say, and some of you have said plenty. It doesn't matter how I rationalise it and how I think about it. It doesn't matter.
Because I feel the same way every time, and it doesn't change, it doesn't diminish. And I am scared that it won't ever diminish, and I am scared that it will.
The package contains card. It contains a votive holder, beautiful in painted glass. It contains a candle.
It is not even the day and I am already weeping.
I miss Ee. I always will.